To Dream
by InkWorthy
Summary: First-Person POV ficlet, set between TPatC and E, E. A month into serving penance, Cenobite Prince ruminates on his situation. A little Pinsty by default at this point.


_Screams, shouts, cries. Ringing in the left ear, fire in the spine. Tank treads hitting the ground. Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump. An explosion. Ringing in the right ear. Eyes ahead, stay down, stay down. Eyes ahead. Dust. Dirt into smoke. No aim. No target. Tank treads. Thumpthumpthump. Dust clears. Target ahead. Take the shot. The treads thunder. Take the shot. My chest is heavy and quick. Take the shot._

_"Fire!"_

Thunder. Thunder seizes my chest and I gasp for air. I open my eyes and the dust is gone. The war is gone. I am in the dark. I am alone. I am...

I close my eyes again as the thundering of my pulse settles; the damned humanity left in me has more control of my body than my soul. Alas, the brain is an organ, and traces of old human sickness taint the darkness of my meditation. In shame I realize that in the midst of my concentration I have fallen asleep, perhaps for a long time.

I do not know any longer.

The wildness stirs; in my mind I can feel the other fragments of myself waking, undisturbed by the vision of the war trenches. And why should they be? The memories were like old viscera. They were interesting to study, certainly, but they contributed nothing and rotted in what was otherwise pristine concentration.

Slowly sharpness returns to my mind and binds it tight; though I am not to move in my penance, beyond that which my body must to breathe, to see. There is nothing to see in such darkness, but that is the point. I briefly muse on past students, submerged in darkness for so long that their minds conjured images and sounds to fill the impossibility of the void. How long, I wonder, until I follow?

_No. _A fragment of Cenobitic restraint takes hold. _That is not who I am. _I am a servant of Leviathan, a child of the Labyrinth; I am not to be shaped by such base human inclinations as compensating, as self-deceit in the face of the incomprehensible. Something softer answers; _are dreams not the same? Ambitions? What is fear but the soul's response to uncertainty?_

I do not know the answer. I know this; I will remain here until my creator, my Leviathan, has been paid due penance.

_It will never be enough._

_That is not for me to decide._

I close my eyes again, and I only know the difference for how dry they have become as I stared into the darkness. Visions flood through me; the trenches, the blood, a face. Curly brown hair.

Kirsty. My one respite from the noise inside of me; every fragmented part of my mind quiets at once. It is a mixed blessing; for all that the knowledge that she is safe soothes me, our time together is exhaustingly brief. I linger on her image at moments, for moments are all I can grasp.

I entertain, briefly, the notion of visiting her dreams. Just to hear her voice - just to break the silence in this darkness, to remind her that I have not forgotten her. Does she think about that? The thought hurts a part of me in a way I cannot enjoy. How very human of me.

Dark curls, soft skin. Such an exquisite and tempting canvas for sensation - I quell the thoughts before I can lose myself to them, but I cannot deny they are there. The ache of a Cenobite is still deep within me even with my restored humanity; to draw out sensation, to push boundaries beyond the known realms of experience. There were ways to do that without hurting her - and all the fragments of my soul agree that I will never, _ever _hurt her if I can help it. She has had enough darkness; there is a reason the Lament Configuration opens the door with light.

That is my resolve. I will see her again; I will be a proper Son and a proper lover, dedicated and driven. I will heal, and be whole, and reclaim myself. I turn my thoughts to my teachings and put the thoughts of love and comfort away. They will be incentive for the coming months of meditation, of healing, of restoration.

The trenches that haunt my soul are far away. I will not fall into them again.

* * *

_I'm trying to keep my writing activity up while I work on E, E and Reconstructed (which I might have to revise before I can continue), so here's another POV fic from the Cenobite Prince! This one takes place about a month or two into his isolation, and I wanted to tap into what that must be like. Hopefully it's interesting to read; it was certainly interesting to write!_

_Alright, I think that's all I've got. Be kind, everybody!_

_-Inky_


End file.
